The Life and Times of the Vodka Queen
by JohnPaulGeorgeandRingo
Summary: A love of vodka and coke, a hatred of brussel sprouts and a heartbreaking guilt trip. When did Rogue's life become so complicated? Set after the events of X2. Eventual Rogan because I'm an unashamed, obsessive freak who loves to bring Wolverine and Rogue together, you know, where they belong.
1. Vodka, Coke and Brussel Sprouts

_**I'm not entirely sure where this fic is headed, how long it is going to be or even if there is going to be a sprinkle of romance in there. What I do know is that I don't own the rights to X-men and Hugh Jackman is a very handsome man... That and I need to learn how to crack open a safe ;)**_

**Vodka, Coke and Brussel Sprouts**

I have a philosophy when it comes to alcohol, so please read carefully because I'm only going to tell you this once: The whole wide world is always three drinks behind.

That is why everyone is insane, nuts and incredibly kooky. Forget about eating your five fruit and vegetables a day. What about drinking five cocktails a day or five different beers from five different countries? If everyone participated in a 'Drink your five a day' campaign, I'm certain that the world would be a better place.

Liquor in the bloodstream soothes the soul and loosens the tongue... In my case that is a dangerous combination, I'm a liability when I'm sober. That's Scott's opinion of me, only yesterday he said "Rogue, you're becoming a liability." I told him that I didn't care, rudeness and sarcasm comes hand in hand nowadays. Like Vodka and coke, Lennon and McCartney or brussel sprouts and a trash can... Rogue, Rudeness and sarcasm, we're a force to be reckoned with.

Alcohol, booze, liquor, hootch, moonshine, the hard stuff or sauce. What do you call the drink that you pour down your neck for medicinal purposes?

I call it breakfast, lunch and dinner. I've already told you that I'm a liability, a hang-over, a javelin, an unconscious Cyclops and you're branded for life. I'm never going to hear the end of it, but it was all Scott's fault, I told him I was feeling unwell. He wants us to be well trained X-men, with an array of skills that an Olympic gold medallist would be proud of. Me? I'm allergic to sports, especially those that involve trips to the emergency room. Sure, Scott was the patient and I was the witness and the evident cause of the accident, but hospitals give me the creeps.

I didn't spot one doctor that resembled Gregory House and my life is a length of rope that could easily be contorted into a noose. I'm not good with my hands though, if today's catastrophe is to be believed. Who would have thought that a mutant with a javelin could be a potential hazard to those that grate on her nerves. Of course I didn't do it on purpose, and he only lost Jean seven months ago.

I would never kick a man when he's down. Knock him out with a javelin you say? Um, I plead the fifth.

"I'll have another please Joe." I call to the middle aged bartender, with his middle aged spread, walrus moustache and thinning hair. Oh, and he has an earring too, for those of you that like the finer details in life... It's tough, my vision is blurring and I'm seeing double.

"A double?" Joe asks, as polite as always. He might be a six foot five inches biker dude, who happened to win this ram-shackled old bar in a fight. But, he's a lovely man and his tattoos are awesome. "It's gone twelve you know."

That means... "Yes, happy hour!"

I really do need to get a life, I'm dawdling through a land of make believe, with super heroes, the bad guys and mutations. This is the only outlet I have, if I told a shrink about the inner workings of my mind, I would be in a straitjacket quicker then you can say 'Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.'

I only know one Peter and he doesn't like Peppers. I'll ask him to recite the poem later, maybe then he would at least embrace a pepper without turning green.

"Thanks Joe."

He places the two tall glasses, filled to the brim with vodka, coke and no ice in front of me. I've had enough of Bobby Drake this week, teenage boys are idiots and the less I see of him the better. I don't want to set eyes on any male I... Is that Logan?

No, it can't be. I haven't seen him since Jean died, he left shortly after. I turn back to my drinks and lick my lips in anticipation. Which one should I drink first?

Someone sits beside me in the empty stool, as I watch out of the corner of my eye and sip my watery victim... Jeez, that sounds so unjust and wrong... I'm sipping my delicious...

"Beer." A familiar voice grunts.

Oh. My. God

Oh. My. God!

Oh. My. God!

I slam the glass down, spilling the drink slightly and drenching my green silk glove. I count to ten, take a deep breath and twirl around. "You!?" I cry, pointing at a man I didn't think I would ever see again. "You, you're... I'm... Oh my God... It's... Just go away."

"I take it you didn't miss me then, Kid?" Logan snorts, dressed in a red shirt, casual denim jeans and his leather jacket. I haven't missed his lips twitching into a smirk or his arched eyebrow either.

I gaze around the bar looking for a pretty red head. "What you lookin' for?"

"The woman that you're trying so desperately to impress. I want to give her my sincerest apologies before she gets involved with you." I reply, ignoring his look of surprise and concentrating on my drink instead. Come to momma precious, that's a good girl.

"You piss drunk? Pissed off? Or both?" Logan questions, never one for beating around the bush.

I greedily slap my lips together and slurp the remainder of my drink. This is not how I envisioned my night of high-jinks ending, this is tragic and I won't stand for it.

"Go back to Canada."

"Kid." He sighs tiredly, sipping his beer and readying himself for an argument.

"I'm not a kid!" I snarl, woozily standing to my feet and searching my pockets for my I.D. "Where did I..."

"You lookin' for this?"

"Hey! That's mine!"

"Its fake." Logan scoffs, shaking his head while I watch my beautiful I.D disappear into his jacket pocket. "If you leave stuff lying around someone's gonna take it."

"And by someone, you mean you?" I slowly sit down and a million and one drunken plans to free my fake I.D from his evil clutches fill my scrambled brain.

"Yeah."

My sarcastic nature is aching to butt heads with this... Uh, butt head. "So, you came all the way here to take my I.D?"

"Nope, came all this way to see how you're doin'." Logan responds gruffly, watching me closely for any signs of his treasured Marie.

"Well I'm honoured but tonight's really not convenient." I whisper, the drink flowing heavily in my veins and finally doing its job thankfully. I don't know how much more of this trip down memory lane I can take. "Please leave me alone."

"Rogue, don't you think you've had enough?" Joe interrupts, eyeing me with concern."You're on your last legs, liquor wise."

I glare at both these meddling men and lean against Logan's shoulder as I hoist myself up. "Both of you need to... Dammit!" I stagger backwards and almost crash to the floor, yet again I'm saved from danger by my reluctant knight in shining adamantium. Ugh, I hate being in debt to feral, bad tempered mutants. "Just give us both a beer Joe and yes it'll be my last!

"You okay?"

"I'm fine." I respond testily, I'm fed up with hearing that question."And stop being nice to me."

"Why?" Logan inquires suspiciously, his hazel eyes narrowing.

I sit on my battered stool and scowl. "Because you're not nice to anyone." And I killed Jean, I add silently and everyone knows it. I attempted to fly the jet, I crashed and burned and I'm not hero material. I killed Jean, I killed Jean, I killed Jean, I killed Jean!

"There somethin' you're not tellin' me?"

My eyes meet the Wolverine's for a second and I hastily look away. "Yes, I don't like brussel sprouts."

I'm on my feet again and darting towards the door, before I've even given my plan a seconds thought. Even my aching limbs can leap over a passed out drunk and run through the only exit. I need to get away from Logan, away from New York and away from Jean Grey's ghost. She's haunting my dreams, my nightmares and my mind.

My name is Rogue, I'm a nineteen year old murderess, I like Vodka and coke, I hate brussel sprouts and this is my story.


	2. Forrest Gump, Daleks and A Kitten

_**Thanks to all those lovely people that reviewed and added this fic to their alerts and favourites. I don't have the internet while I'm writing this and my memory is atrocious...**_

_**Okay, so I'm going to give all you guys that are reading this story a choice. Well, four choices actually. This is either going to be a romance, a friendship , you really don't know or you couldn't care less. Those are your choices you lucky things, please let me know. Its not everyday you have a say in the direction of a fic you know :P Make the most of it! **_

**Forrest Gump, Daleks and A Kitten**

Its rather difficult to hide from a guy with a nose...

Wait a minute, that doesn't sound right. I have learnt an important lesson tonight, drinking your body weight in liquor doesn't engage the brain, it destroys it.

My brain cells are being exterminated by a horde of naughty drunken Daleks and I have lost The Doctor and my beloved sonic screwdriver. So, what's a girl to do?

No, don't you dare mention the L word. I won't turn around and search high and low for him, he can take his geriatric, grumpy ass back to hicksville for all I care. You know a place in the south where the folks marry their under-age cousins.

I know what you're thinking, I Marie D'Ancanto, aged nineteen years and four months am not a southern stereotype. I was born there, grew up there and that equals permission to joke about the yokels and the hicks. We're not all as naïve and childlike to the startling degree of Forrest Gump, but I love the movie, Tom Hanks kicks ass in that role.

I'm beginning to ramble, all you need to know is that I'm stumbling down a deserted alley way. I'll even be kind enough and point out a kitten. Look! See? No, you're looking the wrong way guys. What the heck have you been drinking tonight? Sheesh, your breath stinks... If I was to light a match near you, the entire block would go up in flames.

Oh, actually on closer inspection it's my breath that smells. I apologise for the mix-up, it was an easy mistake to make. Damn, when was the last time I brushed my teeth?

I blame the liquor, its always the Vodka's fault. Take Scott's concussion for example, it would never have happened if I hadn't have been hung-over and sorely wishing that I was still in bed.

So all of you beware; because if you cross that line (Yes, that line!) and put a foot wrong... I'll crack you around the skull with a javelin.

Where did that kitten go? "Here kitty, kitty, kitty." It always works in the movies, I'm not so sure how effective its going to be coming from the lips of a staggering drunk, with a case of halitosis from hell. "Come on out, I'm not going to exterminate you."

A rustling from a pile of cardboard boxes and black bin liners captures my attention. I quietly creep over to the source of the sound, I don't want to frighten the poor thing. "I've got a nice can of tuna with your name on it at home."

Did I just call the mansion home? Heck, I must be drunk. "How did you know that tuna was my favourite fish? I suppose the cat will like it, is there room for two?"

"Ahhh!" I scream, jumping ten feet in the air. Maybe I could win a gold medal in pole vaulting, I can just see it now. The proud faces of my parents in the crowd, if they hadn't disowned me for becoming a mutant. Oh yeah, like I had a choice. I didn't wake up one morning and think 'Gee wouldn't it be great to have a mutation, I know why don't I pray for soul sucking skin and see what happens.'

"I didn't mean to scare you Miss." An elderly guy says worriedly, peeping out from behind the box. He's dressed in a large woollen over coat, gloves and a knitted tea cosy style hat. As I said before, you won't be getting any prize winning descriptions from me tonight.

Oh man, he's homeless. This is just what I need, another guilt trip. I have a warm bed to sleep in, food on the table and a Cyclops to bicker with. I guess I'm kind of lucky in a twisted way.

"Kid? What the..." Logan skids to a halt, spraying me with gravel and dust.

Me? Lucky? Nah. I glare at a huffing and puffing Logan. "You're stalking me."

"You screamed." He says, attempting to catch his breath and carefully eyeing the vagabond behind me.

"And you're stalking me, I could have your ass thrown in the slammer!" I cry melodramatically and working myself into a frenzy. "You are one sick... Don't move."

The kitten has crawled out from its hiding place and is attacking Logan's foot, baby claws and all. "Oh that is so cute, aren't you cute?" I coo, treading slowly towards the cat.

"You call this cute?" Logan demands, glaring coldly at the bundle of fur scratching and biting his boot. "Damn thing is probably crawling with fleas."

"Hey! You're going to scare it." I chastise, scooping the kitten into my arms. "Don't worry kitty, the big bad Wolverine won't get you."

I gaze at Logan with puppy dog eyes and pout for all I'm worth. "Aw hell, you can't bring that thing back to the mansion. Scooter will have a fit."

"So he's awake now?"

"Yeah." He smirks, placing a cigar between his lips. "Nice one kid, I couldn't have done better myself."

"As if Scott would ever give you a javelin to play with." I retort, silently reprimanding myself for running head first into our witty banter and friendship once again.

You silly, silly Vodka. I hate you so much but I hold you in great esteem, like a diamond. Forget Marilyn Monroe and the whole 'Diamonds are a girl's best friend' homage to those twinkling little gems. Vodka is a girls best friend, its crystal clear and if you drink enough of it, you will start to believe that you are Marilyn Monroe. "Happy birthday Mr. President." I announce, in a sultry whisper.

"Come again?"

"I wasn't talking to you Wolverine."

"Fair enough." Logan sighs, chomping on his cigar. "You finished paintin' the town red?"

"Red!?" I cry, my thoughts clamouring to free themselves from Jean Greys clutches. "Why can't I paint the town pink, purple, green, blue, orange... No, not orange, that's too much like red. I like green, yeah, I'd be more than happy to paint the town green. Stop it with the eyebrow already, one of these days its going to jump ship, not every body part is a glutton for punishment you know."

That poor, abused eyebrow, Logan really should be taken to court for eyebrow abuse.

"Come on kid, you need to sober up. Your fun's over for tonight." He throws an arm around my shoulders and guides me out of the alley. The kitten snuggles deeper into my arms and sighs contently to itself, there is no way on this blurry earth that I would ever be able to give my baby up.

"My fun isn't over for tonight! Its only just begun!" I respond, pulling away from Logan and stomping across the road. My temper is legendary in the mansion and can only be eclipsed by Wolverine and his over dramatics, the phrase 'Throwing his toys out of the pram' was coined especially for him.

"Kid!"

"The name's Rogue!"

"I know what your damn name is." Logan growls in reply, pulling me to a stop. "You're going back to the mansion, no arguments."

I don't even struggle as he begins to haul me in the direction of his truck. Even the kitten, still wrapped in my arms is bored with its momma being treated as a child. "Oh, and who made you, the eyebrow abusing extraordinaire, the boss of me? What would you like me to do next? Bow down to you and lick your boots?" I huff, the liquor clouding my mind and tickling my throat.

"Nope, I'll leave that to the flea pit in your arms."

"Stop bullying the poor defenceless kitten. What's the matter with you?"

"What's the matter with me?" Logan snarls, his grip tightening on my upper arm. "What the hell's the matter with you? I ain't the one pourin' Vodka down my throat and partyin' till dawn."

"Oh, you hypocrite. What is this, do as I say but not as I do?" I scoff, readying myself for the fight of my life. No one is going to walk all over me and get away with it.

"Yeah, that's exactly what this is. Someone needs to kick your ass into touch and you're gonna listen to me!"

"Listen to you!?" I repeat scathingly. I might have outgrown the bitchiness of my teenage years but... Actually I haven't, I'm proud of my inner bitch and it has full reign in this discussion. Go inner bitch, go do your worst, you know you want to. "You are the last person on this earth I'd listen to. I don't care if the sky was falling in, aliens invaded the planet... Magneto had a sex change called himself Nancy and married Sabretooth, Barney the dinosaur was voted as the new president and they brought back the mutant registration! I don't care what happens while I'm still breathing; but I will never trust you again."

Logan raises his infamous eyebrow and appears stony faced at my admission. "Sticks and stones kid." He says gruffly. "You can call me every name under the sun, it ain't gonna bother me. What would bother me is if you got hurt on one of these jaunts of yours."

"Oh, save it for someone that cares and stop being nice to me! I don't deserve it!"

The kitten yawns tiredly and burrows its face into the crook of my arm. "Look, I don't know what's been goin' on since I left..."

The tickling in my throat returns with a vengeance and I zone out completely. An unwelcome taste in my mouth becomes apparent and I know that this isn't just a tickle. Its happened a few times this week, I'm sure that its happened to you all at some point in your life. I'll give you a clue, when you drink too much it will always come back to haunt you... And haunt me it will.

"Kid?"

"I'm going to be..." The contents of my stomach comes rushing out of my nose and mouth, causing Logan to jump back out of harms way. Now we all know what the Wolverine is scared of... My vomit splattering onto his Levi's.

I cough, burp and spew the Vodka from my system and groan as I gaze at the newly decorated pavement. "Ugh, I don't feel well." I moan to my would be protector.

"You ain't gonna get any sympathy from me." He grunts, nodding at the bundle in my arms. "And you've given your new friend a shower."

'Meow'


	3. A Sprout By No Other Name

_**Thanks to all those that have reviewed and apologies for taking so long to update. This chapter is dedicated to those loyal and devoted reviewers that never fail to make me smile with their kindness: Chefz, McLoving Grey's, Cherish, Wolverette, comic-cake, Courtney Summers, Dragongirl of the stars, I'mYourChemicalRomance, Chellerbelle, SapphireMind, **__**Janieshi, Browneyeddevil, Ohagi-Chan, Sachertorte, Shashocking and RagamuffinSundrop.**_

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**A Sprout By No Other Name**

'Meow'

Oh, my head.

Ugh.

Ouch.

Aw, hell... What in Madonna's name happened to me last night?

I can't even move. I hate America and it's society of greed, excess and happy- hour-happy-go-lucky-gung-ho-happy-drinkers... We're a nation of vodka drinking, whiskey swilling assholes and I'm the worst; with my self loathing, drunken escapades and javelin throwing nuttiness. What the hell, why don't I just come out and say it, "I'm a poor hungover American girl."

Every time I attempt to drag my poorly ass out of bed after a night of doing God knows what, I'm hungover. Hungover and sick. Hungover, sick, battered, bruised, tired and with a headache that just screams 'Meow, meow, meow, meow, meow!'

Note to self: lay off the doubles and you might just stop hearing things that are not there.

'Meow'

Oh my Lord, my head! Where am I? This is my bedroom isn't it? Please say that it is, I don't need any nasty surprises today. At least I still have my clothes on this time, I really don't need a repeat of last months stripping-for-the-cab-driver-because-I-had-run-out-of-cash scenario.

I carefully peek out from under the covers, where I'm curled up tighter then Scott's boxer shorts in marital clinch with the proverbial stick up his ass. With a great amount of effort on my part, I squint into the disgustingly bright sunlight and see my desk piled high with what I would describe as first class crap.

You know, the stuff you horde as thought your life almost depended on it? Like the crumpled year old magazines, a half eaten mildewed and rotting cheese sandwich that looks older then the Professor, a dishevelled grimy looking kitten, the black and white James Dean poster that I bought at a vintage store and never actually bothered to frame and my reflection. What on earth possessed me to hang a mirror there?

I'm all smudged make up, with blood shot eyes, a vampire's complexion and I have vomit in my hair. I hope that finding vomit in your hair equals a damn good night because this is not a great look. Hmm, I doubt even Lady GaGa could pull off a look like this.

'Meow'

Now I smell that vomit in my hair and it stinks to high heaven. I can smell the overpowering stench of dried vomit and I'm going to vomit because I really dislike vomit.

I also think that there is a slight possibility that I might still be drunk. Either that or I'm now obsessed with the smell of my own puke... Jeez, I hope that is my own puke.

'Meow'

Okay, that does it, I can't sleep here. I won't be able to sleep at all with a brain with its own brass band section, a group of tap dancers, a tuba player and a cat. My head is going to explode, its pounding like … Well, like something that pounds... Pounds and pounds and pounds and pounds.

'Meow'

I'm going to get out of this bed because quite frankly; I smell. I need a hot shower, an aspirin the size of a double cheeseburger, with rashers of bacon, a generous portion of onion rings and a side of chili cheese fries.

'Meow'

Feet to floor, feet to floor, how hard can it be? I'm an X-man in training, my hand to eye co-ordination is second to none (When I'm not handling a javelin) So, where does that leave my feet? Come on Rogue! You can do this, all you need to do is allow your feet to connect with the carpet.

Rather reluctantly, my feet finally meet the acquaintance of my five month old boring beige carpet. I gaze down at said feet on said boring carpet and suddenly realize that I'm still wearing my ruby red Doc Marten boots. That and I'm suddenly thrown by the distinct stench of shit and yes, the bottom of my boot has been blessed with the tell-tale sign of a dog's calling card... Wherever that calling card had been left, my ruby red Doc Martens obviously connected with the steaming pile of dog turd minutes later.

'Meow'

I just can't believe this, I'm going to have to burn my sheets, clean the boring beige carpet and my boots. Is there anything else I need to disinfect with a litre of bleach?

'Meow'

"Will you shut up!" I snap, untying my laces and propelling my boots across the room, where they slam against the matching beige walls. "No!" I cry, jumping unsteadily to my feet and marching over to the newly marked walls. "I can't believe it."

I know that I never liked the sterile, beige blandness of my mushroom painted walls but, I never wanted this. Okay, so I'm a fan of art, the funkier the better and this in some undeveloped countries would be applauded, framed and displayed as unconventional artistic bullshit. Which it is, no it really is shit, dog shit to be exact.

How is a hungover young American vodka loving girl supposed to deal with this?

Oh, that's easy... I won't deal with it.

'Meow'

Swinging around, and wincing when my stomach gurgles at the reality of my stellar hangover and the giddiness that goes with it, I sluggishly gaze around my room. There is no doubt about it, I definitely heard something that time. Something that shouldn't be here, something that I found and something that I brought back to the mansion with me.

The something in question walks clumsily across my desk and pauses when it spots me staring at it slack jawed and lost for words. With all the grace of the Vodka queen I'm gradually turning into, I squeal with excitement and rush over to the cutest bundle of fluff I have ever laid eyes on.

Sweeping the little beauty into my arms, my eyes scan over what I believe to be a kitten. I can't be one hundred percent sure because it appears to be caked in what I can only describe as an unidentified dried on substance.

"Where did you come from little fella?" I coo at the two olive green eyes that cautiously stare back at me. "You've got yourself into a little pickle, haven't you? Don't look so scared. I haven't had any thoughts about eating you."

"You do know that you smell, right" The kitten meows in what I would like to believe is a polite reply. "Well, I'm not joking. Have you seen yourself? You look like a brussel sprout with all that green gunge in your fur."

'Meow'

"Yes you do. In fact that's what I'm going to call you." The kitten looks almost indignant at being described as a hairy, stinking vegetable that weighs approximately thirteen ounces. I walk to my bathroom with my new friend safely in the palm of my gloved hand."So Sprout, what do you reckon about joining me in the shower? You're not a pervert, are you?"

* * *

"You're definitely not a pervert. You're way too cute." I tell Sprout, while he sits beside the sink licking himself. With a towel in my hands, I tackle my drenched and dripping hair, singing 'How much is that kitten in the window.'

Wrapping the towel around my head, I glance at my new friend and smile. "Especially now that I've cleaned you up." Quickly drying my hands on my denim clad thighs, I reach for my periwinkle silk gloves that assemble my outfit and put them on. "Are you hungry?"

'Meow'

"You're a polite little fella. Has anyone ever told you that?"

Sprout gazes up at me and I shake my head. "That's because everyone's stupid. But, we know that you're polite don't we?" I pick him up and hold him above my head. "Oh yes we do, Sprout's a polite kitten and your Mama's proud of you."

'Meow'

"Do you want some tuna?"

'Meow'

I hold him against my chest and wander out of the bathroom. "I know someone that would have loved you." I reveal to the black and white kitten, curled up in my arms. "Her name was Jean and she always wanted a cat but her fiancé was... Well let's just say that even though he had washboard abs and a cute ass, I still couldn't understand what she saw in him."

Sprout purrs and I nod my head while opening my bedroom door. "Yes, I think that you're right. It probably was just sexual."

I close the door behind me and head in the direction of the stairs. "Jean's gone now though." The kitten looks up at me, his forest green eyes boring into my cinnamon glazed ones. "I've dealt with it though, it's just one of those things." I announce, almost believing it myself. "Anyway, you don't have to worry about a thing. I'm going to take care of you. I promise."

Walking down the stairs, I pass a couple of new students who avoid me like the plague. They probably think that I'm going to pounce on them with my terrifying power. Rolling my eyes at their blatant tactlessness, I cross the hall and scurry into the empty kitchen.

Placing Sprout safely onto the kitchen counter, I begin to open each cupboard in search of a can of tuna. But, some idiot seems to have taken the words 'Spring cleaning' to the extreme and we seem to be currently tuna-less.

'Meow'

"Yes, I know you're hungry and I really am trying to find you something to eat. But, someone's gone and hidden the tuna." I grumble, rubbing my right eye and glancing at the counter then at the cupboard. "I can't see what's on the top shelf, So I'm going to have to climb up there."

Before you ask, it really doesn't seem that strange explaining my actions to a kitten. I have shared more then one conversation with Cyclops, so what do you expect?

Hopping onto the durable and expensive looking shiny granite worktop, I slide my legs under my ass and curl my gloved fingers around the cupboard door as I twirl around. I carefully stand up and open the door, cursing as I glare at five hundred tins of baked beans. I wonder if cat's like beans?

As I close the cupboard door and shuffle across the worktop onto my next destination, I hear the lolloping sound of footsteps entering the room. Not bothering to turn around, I open the next cupboard.

"Rogue? What are you doing?" Scott demands standing behind me and I can almost hear the disapproval creeping into his voice.

"Me?" I ask sarcastically, slamming the cupboard closed when I find only pasta, cheese sauce, flour and a bottle of Jack Daniels that I might borrow for later on. "I'm searching for one of those javelins we were using the other day. When I heard that you were up on your feet again, I realized that I had failed in my quest to bash your brains out."

"I don't find that funny."

"Neither do I, it sucks to be a failure." I quip, smirking to myself and opening yet another cupboard door.

'Meow'

"Is that a cat?" Scott squeals, causing me to glance around and hang on for dear life as I giggle at the sight of the fearless leader backing away from a kitten. "I'm allergic to cat's, you can't bring that thing in here!"

I tut at his choice of words and slide off of the worktop. "He's not a thing, his name is Sprout, and you can apologize for that remark, you've hurt his feelings."

Scott steps behind the kitchen table and places a hand over his nose and mouth. "I don't think that you understood me... Wait, did you say that you've called it Sprout?"

I pat Sprout on the head and then begin to rummage in the refrigerator. "Have you seen the tuna?" I ask, blinking when the light from the fridge almost burns my corneas to a crisp. Has it always been this bright?

"No, I think we've run out. Rogue, you really need to get rid of the cat. It's probably got fleas, and I can already feel myself coming out in hives."

Ignoring Scott and his feminine ways. I spot five cans of Molson's beer cooling at the back of the top shelf, directly behind the asparagus, cucumbers and spinach. Relieving the owner of the beer the tedious and drawn out problem of having to drink all five cans; I help myself to one.

'Meow'

Slamming the fridge closed and again ignoring Scott's looks of disapproval. I open the can and take a sharp swig of the bitter tasting liquid. "Okay, okay. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about you." I sigh, observing a zealous Sprout pawing at my free hand.

"That's good to know kid." An irritated voice growls, and it sure ain't Scott. I continue staring at the crudely decorated kitchen tiles like the exceptional little Vodka Queen I am and pray to God that I'm hallucinating the outline of the familiar mutant I can see out of the corner of my eye. "Is that my beer?"


	4. Houston, We Have A Problem

_**Has anyone had a chance to see Kick-Ass at the cinema yet? If not, you have to drop everything right now, run out of your house and go straight to your local cinema. I don't think that I've ever laughed so much at a film. The entire audience were in stitches. And I haven't even got to the best part yet! Our very own Wolverine gets a mention! I was sorely tempted to stand up and cheer but I thought better of it. Then the moment just passed. LOL**_

_**This took me a fair few hours to write and I've neglected the phone, the door, the TV and my rumbling stomach to finish this. For some strange reason I'm quite proud of it. I like the humour in this chapter and I'm quite happy with the ending.**_

_**Strangely this website won't let me underline the chapter titles in this story...**_

_**Thank you to those that reviewed the last chapter: chellerbelle, adeerfriend, Comic-cake, firefly4543, orangebean and cherish. This following chapter is dedicated to all of you!**_

* * *

**Houston, We Have A Problem...**

There were twenty one perfectly placed tiles on the kitchen wall directly in front of my nose. Two of them have hairline cracks which are a sure sign that they're past their youthful years and are in need of a little cosmetic help.

It's a little strange what goes through my mind when I'm fighting to keep my composure. I've already decided that we need to place a collect call to Ty Pennington and his team of fixer uppers. I want to be the one to shout "Move that bus!" Closely followed by; "Remove your pants!" I've always had a small crush on Ty.

The fantasy of my Ty asking to store his large throbbing multi purpose spanner in my toolbox fizzles away when two distinct noises reach my ears. One low rumbled warning growl and the sound of an out of depth leader clearing his throat.

My eyes choose to stray from the tiles and fall on Sprout instead. He's sitting on the counter looking distinctly unimpressed with our company. "I guess you still need feeding." I state calmly, still not showing any outward sign of noticing Logan's return. "You probably won't like this beer, it's not very nice being Canadian and all. So, how about a saucer of milk?"

A deep crackling growl seems to echo sharply off the walls and Sprout edges closer towards me. "Between you and me he might sound like a dog but I'm ninety five percent sure that he's pure mutant."

"Don't you think that ninety five percent is a little generous?" Scott asked incredulously. "I'd say that ninety percent is more than adequate."

I take a fine china bowl from the cupboard and open the fridge door. "It's borderline." I reply, removing the carton of full fat milk and unscrewing the cap.

"Maybe I'm letting my grudge get in the way. How about ninety two percent?"

"Make it ninety three and we have a deal."

Cyclops scratches his chin and gazes at me apprehensively. "Is this a hypothetical deal?"

"Enough!" Logan snarls, sounding as though his famously short temper is hanging by a loose thread.

Glancing at him indifferently, I finally get a clear look at the man I haven't seen for months. He's dressed in his favoured style of faded denim and battered leather. Teaming it with a pair of scuffed cowboys boots and the decorative belt buckle that's hugging his waist. Something makes me think that Wolverine has been taking styling tips from those hookers at that western country cowboy bar down town again.

'Meow'

"Sorry. I got distracted." I sigh admittedly. "You'll get used to that. Its a very distracting place to live in." I pour the milk into the bowl and a famished Sprout almost dives into creamy liquid. "People are always coming and going. The professor should probably insert a revolving door. Especially when certain people decide to leave every other month."

Could that possibly be another job for Ty Pennington? I hope that he wears his tool belt and little else when he gets down to business. I think I'd like to see a naked man in the flesh for the first time. I'm starting to doubt that Jubilee's 'Sex God' magazines do it all suitable justice. Those Jack The Dripper's with added girth actually look a little scary... How does something that size slide in and out of me without removing half my organs in the process?

"So that's why you were so angry at Logan last night." Scott announces rather pleased with himself. "The pieces of the puzzle are finally fitting together."

I stare blankly at him and my hand blindly reaches for my barely touched can of beer. "I didn't see him last night. Did I?" I question flatly. The can reaches my lips and I take an enormous gulp of liquidated Canadian trash. "I would have remembered if I had."

"I think you were slightly drunk."

"Slightly drunk?" Logan snorts disbelievingly. "I had to peel her off the back seat of my truck."

Scott turns to Logan and the beady eyes behind his glasses sweep over his face. "I thought that you were teaching my defence classes this morning?"

With a feral grin he replies; "I am, just needed to collect somethin'."

"What?" I ask, kicking myself as soon as those words tumble out of my mouth.

Faster then the speed of light, sound and Jubilee's shopping sprees with the Professors credit card all rolled into one, the half empty can of Wolverine's precious beer is removed from my hand. Logan towers over me standing so close that I can smell what he had for breakfast. "Congratulations Kid. You've just volunteered that ass of yours."

My eyes darting nervously from the can in his hand to the smirk on his face, I start to back away from him. He steps closer, crowding my personal space and grins like a recently escaped prisoner having absconded from death row and accidently wandered into a brothel. "I don't remember volunteering for anything."

"You touched my beer." He tells me gruffly, dumping the can into the sink and roughly grabbing my upper arm. "Now, it's pay back time."

I certainly don't like the sound of that and neither does my hangover. "Scott? Can you ask Wolverine to kindly remove his hand from my arm?" I demand with my voice void of emotion. "I think I might just be sick."

Scowling at my scornful attitude, he fixes me with a withering glare. "Stay outta this Scooter." He commands and with two calloused hands looped around my waist, he throws me over his shoulder.

Emitting a tiny shriek of surprise, I swallow the vomit that's crawling it's way up my oesophagus and begin to thrash violently. "What didn't you just understand about me feeling sick when you touched me?" I splutter watching Sprout and Scott disappear as I'm carried out of the kitchen.

Choosing to overlook my insults, he continues marching down the corridor in silence. His blatant ignorance towards my crystal clear feelings pushes me further into my black mood. "I don't know what your problem is but you need to learn to share!"

He snorts and I grumble curse ridden insults under my breath when I see a number of new students eagerly watching the scene unfold. I instantly know that the gossip surrounding Rogue being carried over the temperamental Wolverine's shoulder will spread faster then a bush fire in outback Australia.

Hearing the familiar 'Ping' as he presses the button on the elevator, my face turns paler by the second. "You knew that I'd take your beer didn't you?"

Adjusting me in his grip, the elevator groans beneath us. "I was countin' on it."

"That's just cruel." I sigh heavily, resting my chin on my hand.

* * *

I'm dumped unceremoniously in the middle of the Danger room in front of a gaggle of blinking, whispering and giggling kids. I start to wish that I'd taken a little more care in my appearance when I realize that most of the giggling is focused solely on the towel that's still wrapped around my drying hair.

"Meet my new assistant Rogue." Logan grunts immediately silencing the idle chatter. He slowly circles my blushing form and jerks a thumb at me."From today she'll be here gettin' her ass kicked in every one of my combat classes." The entire group of pubescent mutants gawk at me with growing interest. "That's what happens when you piss me off."

Pulling the towel off of my head, I chuck it directly in front of my feet and brush a gloved hand through the tangles in my still slightly damp hair. Sensing that the crowd are waiting for me to do something... Anything, I purse my lips and snort. "What Wolverine's failed to remember is that you should never piss off the girl who can kill the most powerful of mutants with a single touch. Especially not when she's hungover and cranky."

I stand to my feet and stifle a yawn. "I'm also tired and don't feel much like playing with an overgrown ape today." Turning on my socked feet, I begin to traipse to the exit silently scolding myself for not even wearing make-up. Hopefully a glass of Vodka, crushed ice and diet coke can fix my lingering shame.

"What mistake did Rogue just make?" I hear Logan's voice bark at some poor unsuspecting kid.

I quicken my pace as the male student stutters out a reply. "Um, she turned her back on her enemy during battle."

"Bingo." He growls, stripping his jacket off and throwing it to the ground. "The first rule of combat is never turn your back." I stop in my tracks when I note the sound of heavy boots connecting with the floor at a frightening pace. "The second rule is that you never underestimate your opponent." Much to my shock, my feet are kicked clean from underneath me and before I have the chance to squeal I'm pinned down with a set of claws thrust to my throat. "The third rule might well save your life one day so listen up." His jaw tightens and he narrows his darkening eyes dangerously. "Never piss me off twice in one day."

Sheathing his claws, Logan clambers to his feet and rolls up his sleeves. "Your mutation is your weapon. It stands between you and certain death. Never tell your opponent what your mutation is. It gives them an advantage. Now, find yourselves a sparrin' partner."

Still lying in the spot where he left me, I bite my lower lip and ponder the fact that I've never heard him talk so much in all the time that I've known him. I guess his last trip away from the mansion actually might have done him some good.

An outstretched hand appears in my line of vision and I look up to see Logan standing over me. "You gonna take the hand? Or you down for the count?"

"I think for safety reasons I should stay down for the count." I grumble at him, refusing to take his hand and coercing my aching body into moving. "But I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of thinking that you've won."

"Fair enough."

I slap my hands onto my thighs and gingerly stand up. "Next time you want to teach me a lesson, don't make it physical." I warn his smirking face. "And there's no way that I'm going to assist you."

"You think you've got a choice?" He snaps back with a raised eyebrow.

"What makes you think that kicking my ass is going to change things?"

"This ain't about us."

"Then what the heck is it about?" I demand focusing on Logan and not the fireball that whizzes past my ear a little too closely for my comfort.

"Reignin' you in." Wolverine announces matter of factly, cracking a kink out of his neck and getting into a fighting stance. "Ready for round two kid?"

* * *

I felt liked I'd died and gone to heaven when I set foot into my favourite haunt tonight. Even a naked, thoroughly wanting Ty Pennington holding his blue veined microphone in his hand and offering to let me meet and greet it couldn't eclipse the butterflies I get from seeing Joe.

"Joe you're the best barman there ever was." I say lovingly, my veins laced with large quantities of spirits. "I never knew that there were so many different flavours of vodka."

"I'd forgotten how many flavours there were myself." He replies sounding genuinely shocked while lining the glasses up along the bar and mentally counting them.

"I've had a bad day. A really, really bad day. The worst and I've really never had such a bad day like I have today. First I smear my walls with shit, then I get my ass kicked for many many hours even though I was hungover... And do you know what the worst part of it was?"

Joe shakes his head and I lean in closer to him. "Ty Pennington still hasn't sent me a signed photo. Even after all the letters that I've written to him. I wanted a signed photo and guess what I got instead?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Him." I declare unhappily, pointing at the reflection in the cracked mirror that hangs over the bar. "I got him without even asking. Do you know who he is?"

Joe eyes the frowning man behind me. "The guy that you were arguing with last night?"

"No... Was I arguing with him here last night? I was arguing with him this morning too and this afternoon. I've been arguing with him all day. Now we're going to argue again."

Logan heaves himself onto the stool without even looking my way. Good. I bet he's scared of me because I'm a woman and I'm drunk. I'm a drunk woman and he doesn't know what to do with me. I pluck the nearest glass of liquor from the counter and sip it slowly. "I like this one the best. It smells like apple and doesn't taste like ass."

Joe chuckles at my comment and scurries over to a waiting customer. That means that Logan and me are alone. "I've got another million flavours to try Wolverine. So if you can't sit there without growling then there's an exit somewhere around here. There has to be because of fire regulations. Remember.. Don't let the door hit you where the good Lord split you."

"You've got a gift for pissin' people off kid. Mainly me and it ain't cute." He growls ignoring my very warning on his growling. Does that mean that he's now warning me over my warning because he doesn't like to be warned himself? Its all very confusing when you warn someone. Especially when they're always warning you.

"Oh and there goes my excuse." I respond sarcastically. Which is a very hard thing to do when you're drunk. Adding a wave of the hand to show him how I believe an excuse would fly away, I drink more of Joe's apple flavoured concoction. "Can you see it flapping its wings? You really need to get over yourself Logan."

He calls Joe over to demand a beer and lights a cigar with the flick of a match. "I really hope that you don't find me cute Wolverine because my heart belongs to another. I'm just waiting for him to reply to the seventy eight fan letters that I've sent him and then we can elope gloved hand in hand."

Logan only arches an eyebrow and chews on his cigar in response. "Just because I don't remember seeing you last night, that doesn't mean that you're allowed to come back again. You can't drag me out of here and make me go back to the mansion. I don't care if you're scared of me when I'm drunk. You're just going to have to deal with it."

"You really thought that Scott wouldn't notice that his wallet was missin'?" He counters, shifting on his stall so that he can get a better look at my face.

"What's he going to do about it? Send Logan to get it off me?" I slur drunkenly, starting on a lime flavoured bit of beauty. "Well he already did that because you're here. I don't think there's anything else that would worry me."

"What about the cat?"

"He's with Jubilee."

"You sure about that?" He snorts seeming thoroughly amused as my jaw drops slackly.

The glass slips out of my fingers and shatters into a million tiny little pieces. My mouth is dry, my heart skips a beat and I lunge at Logan. "What have you done too Sprout!?"


	5. Out Of My Mind Back In Five Minutes

_**Comic-cake - Thanks for the very sweet compliments. I've just noticed that you've updated your story, so after I post this I'm going to r&r. I seem to have an utterly abysmal day every week. I don't cry into a glass of wine though (shudders) I hate wine. I'm a fan of banter and bickering... Constant arguing is just the icing on the cake and the cherry on top. Come to think of it, I hate cherries too! LOL**_

**_Chellerbelle - I think you're a Gambit fan with that name of yours ;) I'm glad you liked the DR scene. I hope you enjoy the following chapter too and thanks for taking the time to review. _**

**_BlackDog616 - Thanks. Seeing as you like the humour, I've gone and written a chapter with heavy angst... LOL! No, I'm joking. It's angst but mixed with a sprinkle of humour, which I've never attempted before. Remember to never mess with a girl's kitten, she won't thank you for it. _**

**_CB shipper - Thank you for reviewing and I love your profile picture. No need to keep worrying about Sprout. And if Sabertooth has eaten him, Rogue just might have something to say about it._**

**_

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_**

**Out Of My Mind. Back In Five Minutes**

"Oh, not a smart move." Logan growls, easily blocking my kicks directed solely at his hanging brain. While I ponder whether that's his only brain, he roughly shoves the battered bar stool out of our way and slams me into an occupied table.

"You're breaking your promise." I snarl at him savagely, one gloved hand scratching at his face and the other pulling at his unruly hair.

My favourite barman quickly ushers the startled patrons out of the bar, promising them free drinks and peanuts for the next week if they ever return. After the last customer has fled, he sinks against a wall. "You might be my best customer Rogue but you're going to ruin me financially"

"To hell with the promise." Wolverine rumbles catching both of my wrists in one large hand. "I'm five seconds away from losin' my rag. So I'll warn you now kid..."

Possibly ignoring both of Joe and Logan's comments due to the sufficient amount of vodka that I've consumed, I cock my head to the side. "What have you done to Sprout?" I spit harshly and instantly gasping when my hip connects with the corner of the worn table. Even in my drunken state I still felt the stab of pain that almost rendered me fully sober.

His eyes flashing momentarily with concern, Logan releases his grip on my wrists and steps back. "I don't want this gettin' outta hand." He tells me gruffly. "But that's what's gonna happen if your drunken ass ain't ready to leave this dump by the time I finish this sentence."

I've got so many questions swimming in my mind, that I don't immediately grasp the seriousness of the situation. Has something truly horrible happened to my furry brussel sprout? Does Logan use hair products to make him look more bad ass? Why couldn't Ty Pennington reply to my letters? Do the majority of males keep their brains in their pants? Will Joe let me have all the abandoned drinks?

Wolverine snaps his fingers to gain my attention and I shake my head, hoping to banish the wooziness. "I used to like you. People always said that I had no taste. Usually everyone else but me is wrong, in this case I think they're right. It was nice having someone to look up to... You're taller then me, you know. You nearly killed me once with your claws, then you saved my life but you ruined it all again by letting me fall out of a jet. I don't even remember you asking me if I was all right. I bet Ty Pennington wouldn't make that mistake. He's probably been well trained. I bet he even puts the toilet seat down without being told." Sliding a hand behind my back, I tug off a glove and step towards him. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that..."

He raises a terse eyebrow and my knee takes it upon itself to become closely acquainted with his old man balls. "I've changed." Stopping short of falling to the ground in an unmanly whimpering heap, he growls and his head fiercely snaps up. "I'm crushing on a well known carpenter... No, not Jesus." Logan's eyes narrow and I peer down at him unmoved. "And you've underestimated your opponent you naughty, naughty Wolverine."

After much gasping and many glares, I remove my bare fingers from his cheek. "Never piss me off twice in one day Bub." I inform the unconscious and still mutant.

"What did you just do to that poor bastard?" Joe asks, nervously wringing his hands.

"Nothing. He suffers from narcolepsy." I reply, throwing my gloves onto Logan's slowly rising chest. He's still breathing. Good. I thought I'd killed him for a minute there. Not that he wouldn't have deserved it. I would have had a difficult time explaining to Joe why he shouldn't ban my stupid ass from here though.

Stretching my arms high above my head; I hear my joints pop, smell the stale stench of piss and realize that I'm now sober. Dammit. I'd been working closely with the Professor to learn to control the voices in my head. I can now cage each individual psyches and stop there personalities from temporarily merging with mine. But, I'm still unable to fully control another persons mutation.

I guess I just haven't had the time to practice with all the drinking, sleeping and guilt trips.

Marching passed the eerily empty bar and snatching Logan's untouched beer from the counter, Joe stares at me. "You can't just leave!" He cries outraged, kneeling beside Logan and trying to shake him out of his slumber. "What am I supposed to do with him?"

Gulping down the amber liquid, I throw the empty bottle in the trash can and pause at the door. "Just make sure you hide all the breakables and have a bottle of whiskey close at hand when he wakes. I've got to see a man about a cat."

* * *

Hopping off of Wolverine's bike, I waste no time in bolting out of the garage and careering through the kitchen tracking Scott's scent. He always smells like cologne, ground coffee and lubricant. I'd ask Logan how he actually knows what lubricant smells like but he's not here. I guess that questions such as 'How many nights a week do you call down for more mayo alone in your bedroom?' will have to wait for the time being.

It's a shame really because I know that would have pissed him off something fierce.

Having already replayed his memories in my mind, I now know that Logan has nothing to do with whatever danger Sprout's in. He overheard Scott complaining about his missing wallet, spoke to him and then came to find me.

I run up the stairs two at a time, heading straight to Scott and Jean's room. I made my Sprout a promise and I intend to keep it come hell or high water. This is already hell and the water is about to come crashing down on a unsuspecting Scott 'Stick up his ass' Summers.

I can already hear the soft groans coming from his room when I turn the corner and walk down his hallway. I waste no time with pleasantries and summon a little Wolverine rage to help me kick in the door.

Cyclops immediately sits up in his bed and gathers the sheets around him. "What the..."

My boots sink into the carpet as I walk to the double bed, sniffing the strong odour of lubricant, my eyes boring into his crimson face. "You're all alone in here, aren't you?" I say, not seeing any sign of Sprout.

He wipes his hands on the bed sheets and clears his throat. "Logan isn't with you is he?"

"He's taking a nap."

Scott releases the breath he was holding. "Do you have my wallet?"

"Do you have my cat?" I counter, noticing him flinch a little when he spots my bare hands.

"Why aren't you wearing your gloves?" He replies with yet another question. I don't like being asked questions, especially the stupid kind that can be easily answered if you sit back for a minute and stop playing with yourself.

"Because I thought I'd come in here and help you finish your mission to awaken the bacon."

I'll have to thank Logan for that insult. I've never known anyone that has so many synonymous words for jacking off. He's quite the legend in Canada … I'm talking about him shooting off his mouth, not shooting off anything else.

Scott blinks. Scott blushes. Scott wipes his sticky hands on the sheets again.

"I'm the leader of the X-men." He announces, sounding as though he's attempting to remind himself of that fact. "I'm the leader of the X-men and you need to respect me."

I roll my eyes and growl. It's a Wolverine growl and it comes from deep inside me, somewhere that I have yet to fully explore. Somewhere that even scares me. It's the place that I attempt to fill with Vodka, the place where I bury all the thoughts that I don't want to comprehend. It's the place that I'm gradually sinking into and I don't have the strength to fight against it.

"Did you just growl?"

My eyes narrow, my fists are clenched and my personality is slowly being poisoned by a stronger identity. I shouldn't have touched Logan, I shouldn't have used my mutation against him because Jean's not here, she can't help me this time. The professor is away, I can't control the thoughts, the feeling of wanting to inflict pain.

"Rogue?"

His voice echoes in my ears and my resolve shatters. I leap onto his bed, bone claws rip through my knuckles and I can't stop. My brain rewires itself automatically and I no longer like Vodka, I love beer but I still hate brussel sprouts.

I like women, the bigger the breasts the better. I prefer jeans and a wife beater to a tuxedo, the taste of a cigar in my mouth soothes my soul and I enjoy the brutality of cage fighting.

"Rogue..."

Three jagged virginal claws are at Scott's throat before he can utter another word. His mouth snaps shut and I straddle him, the claws drawing a trickle of blood from his clammy skin. But my desire for Sprout shines though like a beacon in my distorted brain.

"Where is he?" I demand, my voice sounding like I've been swallowing sandpaper and cheap whiskey. "Tell me now."

His eyes dart around the room, I can see his pupils clearly through the tinted glasses, I can see everything and I can smell it too. He's nervous but self assured. That angers me, the hand snapping to his glasses infuriates me and my fingers brush his cheek.

They always gasp and Scott's no exception. His eyes roll back in his head and his body trembles underneath mine. He gurgles and it reminds me of the death rattle, I've never witnessed a death rattle but Wolverine has.

Rolling off of him and putting his glasses on, I don't even bat an eyelid when his sheets stick to me, I attack them with my claws instead.

Scooter's memories are frittering though my brain and a tear rolls down my cheek. I miss my fiancée and I don't know if I can live without her. I say goodnight to her before I lay my head down to sleep and gaze at her photos for hours every day.

I miss her and it's killing me.

Sprout, I now know where Sprout is and my legs move of their own accord. I'm going to save my kitten, I need an ice cold beer and I miss my Jean.

Leaving Scott's half naked body, I march out of the room, not bothering to shut the door. The claws are still out and the tears continue to fall. I feel like I'm dying inside and there's nothing I can do.

* * *

Kicking Wolverine... Scott's... My motor cycle over, my frustration is at boiling point. The claws are still visible and I didn't bump into anyone when I left the mansion.

The part of me that's still Marie wants to save Sprout and melt into Logan's arms whilst apologising profusely. The Wolverine in my brain wants to kick ass and drink his weight in ice cold beer. Scott's personality is being overshadowed, I still feel his urge to jerk off and I want Jean... My Jean.

I don't know which way to turn.

My promise, I promised Sprout that I'd look after him and I meant that. I'm going to save him if that's the last thing I do. I never break a promise I make, especially to the kid.

I creep down the quiet corridor sniffing, a hand on my glasses, ready to strike at any moment. I've broken into the place and shredded the alarm as soon as it shrilly assaulted my ears.

Cats, kittens... I can hear them, smell them. Why isn't anyone here? This is supposed to be a cat's home. Doesn't anyone work here at night?

That dick took my Sprout and handed him into a cat's home in retaliation. Jean's photo is in the wallet I stole, I spent most of my night sitting at the bar looking at it before Logan appeared. It's creased but she's smiling in it, her long auburn hair cascading down her back and her bright eyes are flirting with the person behind the camera.

I killed her... It's all Rogue's fault... She killed her.

Turning the corner, I open the door and walk past a number of occupied cages. I'm searching for Sprout and Sprout only, I can't rescue every homeless domestic pet here. The claws still won't fade away; why can't they vanish? I swear that they're scaring the cat's.

I stop in front of a cage and crouch down, sniffing at the bundle of sleeping fluff in front of my nose. "Sprout?" I whisper, unlocking the cage and startling the kitten. "Hey, it's me darlin', are you okay?"

'Meow'

He blinks at me and arches his back, continuously purring. I go to stroke him but stop as my claws strike against the bars of the metallic cage.

I slide to the floor and blink away the tears. "What have I done?"

Sprout watches me out of curiosity and I eye him with remorse. I didn't keep my promise, I've only had one beer tonight and I only played with myself once. I'm a failure.

"I know you can't understand me but I'm a monster."

'Meow'

I hear a sound, the sound of heavy footsteps, two sets of footsteps and the vulnerability fizzles away in an instant to be replaced by Wolverine. I'm alert, focused and on my feet in seconds.

The silhouette of a man darkens the door and my nostrils flare. I growl, the shadow growls and Sprout purrs.

Logan's glare does little to shake me from my feral thoughts. "You've got a hell of a lot of explainin' to do kid." His voice is low and carefully controlled but I can smell his fury.

His gaze falls to the hands at my sides and his eyebrow almost shoots to his hairline. "They from me?"

I growl fiercely and he sighs resignedly. "Storm" He calls, his eyes never leaving my face.

The weather witch anxiously appears behind him. "Rogue, this isn't like you." She announces calmly, taking a step towards me.

Snarling at her, my upper lip curls and Logan places a hand on her shoulder and shakes his head. She hands him something and briefly glances over her shoulder. "We only want to help you Rogue. Please don't make this difficult for yourself." Then she leaves, leaving the smell of roses and rain in her wake.

I crack my knuckles and he watches my bone claws carefully. "I'm givin' you a chance to come quietly." He informs me gruffly, his fingers engulfing Storm's gift in his palm.

'Meow'

My head snaps to Sprout and I look down at my claws. "I don't do quietly." I mutter to myself. "Now leave." He doesn't understand that I'm losing control again, I can't do this... My head, my head hurts.

"I ain't goin' nowhere. This is your last chance, kid."

I meet his glare and match it too a tee, then rip off my glasses. They drop to the floor, I crush them under my boots and Wolverine dives out of the way as two powerful flaming ruby beams rocket from my eyes.

Destroy... I want to destroy everything and drink beer whilst choking the chicken. The beams tear through the brick wall, dust and debris suffocate the room, I'm struggling to keep my composure.

It's tiring juggling two personalities including your own and I want a cigar. I just want to smoke a fat Cuban cigar, kick back and relax. No, I need to fuck a hooker that looks like Jean, keep an eye on the kid and teach the brats how to kick ass.

Jean, why did she have to leave me? We were going to get married, start a family. She promised me... Do I have enough lubrication?

I'm tackled to the ground and a heavy body immobilizes me from moving an inch. I've already taken half the roof off and given a new meaning to _the roof is on fire. _

A gloved hand roughly grabs my chin, turning my face toward the cage that my beloved and much cherished Sprout is in.

No, I won't hurt him, I made a promise.

I screw my eyes closed stopping the beams in their tracks. Wolverine keeps his hand on my face and his bulk begins to crush against my chest. As I gasp for air, two needles puncture my skin and I smell the scent of his sudden guilt, then a wave of unconsciousness washes over me.

My last thoughts are about big bosomed red headed hookers, the experimental drugs that Jean was working on when she died and visiting a pet store soon. Sprout really can't live on full fat milk for the rest of his days, he might get fat!

'Meow'


	6. Bondage Just Ain't My Thing

_**Thanks to chellerbelle (Who I will keep in mind if Sprout ever needs rehoming) Blackdog (Actually the separate minds thing was a little too complicated for my tipsy mind last time. LOL. But I'm happy with the choice I made) Wolverette (You know that I always like making sense) Comic-cake (It's always pissed me off too and you're more than welcome to feel sorry for Scott. But once we all kidnap Hugh Jackman you'll have to keep your hands to yourself) jnetrich (It could go either way) Starlight (Oooh, I have a normal style?) Orangebean (I was wondering where you'd vanished too. You're welcome) Cherish (I tried not to leave you waiting too long) **_

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**Bondage Just Ain't My Thing**

I'm dreaming about wars I've never fought in, places I've never even seen and sexual acts that make me happy that I'm still a virgin. It always happens when I use my mutation, I feel like I'm grappling to explore a past life, maybe even tripping out on LSD.

The heavy mist begins to clear, my own personality warmly hugs my mind and a serene, familiar voice gently asks me to please wake up. As the voice asked so nicely, my brain flips a switch and my body stirs, muscles twitch and my fly eyes open.

"Rogue?"

Bright lights, white washed walls, Storm and a sterile environment greet me. My mouths dry and I try to move on the bed but the restraints fastened tightly around my arms and legs hold me in place. I'm tied to a bed like some kind of sex slave and no, it doesn't turn me on. It turns me on though, beer, beds and bondage sounds like a good night to me. I'm not so sure that Jean would have approved, I know that she was a doctor but she didn't really have a kinky side, I don't either... The lubricant is a necessity for my release.

I don't like feeling helpless or out of my depth, being bound to a bed by the X-men means that I've ventured into the deepest of oceans and I can't swim. I can swim though, all three of us can swim but one of us might rust, two of us find that amusing and one of us doesn't. Strangely I'm not confused by any of this; I just hope that it's not permanent.

"If you struggle they will only get tighter." Storm says a flash of worry in her dark eyes.

"Then get them off me!" I shout, gritting my teeth, drooling slightly and struggling even harder.

She sighs a little and pats my arm in a motherly manner. "I'm sorry but I can't do that."

The restraints tighten around my wrists and ankles, bruising the skin and tears sting my eyes. I remember taking out Wolverine, catching Scott in the act and then knocking him out too, their psyches are still faintly imprinted on my mind. "What did he do to me?" I demand, my eyes darting around the room looking for the gruff man leaning against a wall in the shadows... He's not here though, why's he not here?

It takes her a little time to understand but she pulls a chair next to my bed and sits down. "What he had to. You were a danger to yourself and others." Her beautiful ivory hair frames her face and the dark rings under her eyes age her dramatically. She really looks like shit; did I just think that? "Before Jean died she was working on a temporary cure, one that we could use against the Brotherhood if things got out of hand."

"He's cured me?" I gasp hopefully, my mind hurriedly making shopping plans, dinner dates and an appointment with the finest hairdresser in the state. Oh and I need more lubricant, beer and a new part for my bike. Maybe I should charge the part to One Eye's account again.

"Your mutation should have already returned and I can't let you leave this room. Scott's still in a coma, what were you thinking?"

I blink, struggle against my restraints and blink again. I can't answer her, how can I even justify my actions? Yes, I had promised Sprout, just like I promised... "Where's Spr..." My snappily asked question falls by the wayside; Logan has just stalked into the room, arms crossed over his chest and his eyes focused squarely on Storm.

"I'll deal with Rogue." He growls, not even glancing my way.

When did he start calling me by my mutant name? Is Sprout safe here in the mansion? And why do I know that Logan smells of Canadian beer, an old brand of distilled whiskey and cheap cigars? It's an awful smell, how could Jean even be attracted to him? I smell better, that cologne I wear is expensive stuff, I bought it on sale five years ago.

The scent is so strong, I can almost taste it. I can still smell Jean too, her lingering scent is bleeding from the walls, and Storm has a flowery scent that tickles my nose. Both women smell so good, I want them both.

"Are you sure?" Storm questions him, slowly standing from her chair and worriedly looking between us both. "What if something happens again?"

Now his eyes glance my way, they bore into me and his nostrils flare. "She smells right." He answers simply; meeting my eyes and making me wish that I could immediately sink into oblivion. "And I'll make sure that it don't."

"You're going to watch her then?" She replies, attempting to clarify his growled responses and delve deeper into his mind. Who would want to explore his mind? What am I thinking, Jean wanted to do just that, I never did ask her why she felt attracted to that dick. I can't believe that he calls me a dick, talk about the pot calling the kettle black.

"Yeah, I'm gonna watch her."

The tears make their second reappearance of the night; he turns his back on me and Storm slowing walks to the door. "Are you sure about this?"

He only nods curtly and lowers himself into her seat.

Do I really look like that? I need to seriously lay off the damn beer and hit the Danger room. I think that the beer's finally migrated to his brain, Jean looked more than once but what does he expect when he wears his clothes so tight? Even the men look at him; I guess they had enough at staring at me. Has Scott got gay tendencies? This is why I prefer to spend my alone time with a bottle of vodka, at a bar or with Sprout, everyone here is clinically insane and no, I don't just mean in my mind.

I hate silence; my brain takes it upon itself to fill the iron curtain with three separate voices yammering away. "Bondage just isn't my thing, so how about helping a girl out?" My personality wins the fight to be heard, Logan sits back in his chair and crosses his arms.

"That wasn't a joke." I add when he doesn't move and fixes me with a glare that chokes my very veins with crushed ice. I like ice; it goes great with a vodka and coke, not with beer though. It doesn't work well on my Captain Kirk either. Oh God, I don't know if I'm more disturbed with Cyclops naming his corn dog after a Star Trek character or the fact that I know who James T. Kirk is.

"I think I'm losing what's left of my mind. So let me go before I turn suicidal."

Suicide is never the answer... You're a coward if you quit life because you can't deal with your own shit... I just want to fall into bed with a bottle of vodka and a clear mind, don't ask me what my feelings on suicide are, I think that my thoughts aren't my own right now, they've been tainted.

He's still glaring and it's starting to unnerve one of me, maybe Scott. "Do you want me to say that I'm sorry?" I question a mysteriously quiet Logan. Why isn't he continuously threatening to shred my butt right now? "I'm sorry, okay? I probably shouldn't have..."

"Shut up." He snaps gruffly, gazing at the wall directly behind me or he might just be planning to smash my head into it. Jeez, Scott really has some trust issues.

"I'm trying to apologize!"

Leaping to his feet, he knocks the chair over and leans over the bed, his nose almost touching mine. "You ever pull a stunt like that again and I swear to God..." He snarls his upper lip curling and his eyes narrowing dangerously. "You're gonna wish your ass was back on that damn statue."

I can't decide whether he's serious about his growled threat, he even worships anything other than an ice cold beer or it was a mistake to ever hide in his trailer in the first place. I'm not going to cry though, what would that accomplish? The guy in front of me doesn't have a heart to speak of; he went homicidal on the left ventricle a few years back and the organ is now working in overdrive. He's such a slave driver, what did Jean see in him?

The way I figure this, I'm seriously getting annoyed with the Jean thoughts, Scott's feeling upset or is Logan annoyed? I really don't know anymore.

He sighs heavily and begins to pace the room, allowing me to wallow in my own self pity without someone crowding my personal space and stealing my oxygen. He would steal a girl from another guy, so why wouldn't he steal oxygen?

"Fine, I've pissed you off a little and I probably deserved that." I whisper sedately wishing that I was sedated. "I can smell the anger; it's as real as those bone claws were." He turns to look at me and I screw my eyes shut. "Look, I just want to be alone."

Walking over to me, Logan removes the restraints from my ankles and pauses as his hand hovers over my wrist. "Just so you know, I meant what I said." He says sharply, rubbing his jaw. "One strike and you're out."

"How can you be such a judgemental dick? I'm sure that you've been given more than one chance."

My eyes widen as soon as those words march off of my tongue and parachute from my lips. Don't I... Doesn't Scott know that a man with claws can shred a parachute in seconds?

'Snikt'

That noise has been the stuff of nightmares for so many people but they were bad people. Did that make their deaths less shocking? How the hell should I know? I'm an asshole; I never said that I was a nice guy. He's certainly not charming; I think he's on the wrong side. Why did the Professor even let him stay?

Logan's three claws slice through my wrist restraints like a knife to butter, he raises an eyebrow and jerks his thumb to the door. "Move it."

"Where to?" I demand apprehensively watching him sheathe his claws.

Shaking his head, he grumbles under his breath and pulls me off the bed by my upper arm. "You don't get to ask questions."

My mouth snaps shut when I see his face and I bite my lip nervously. Maybe I should just let him bask in the belief that he wears the pants in this fractured friendship, it's not much of a relationship to be honest but the Logan in my head is very guarded about some of his thoughts. I wish that I was as hard hearted as he is.

He half drags half guides me out of the med lab and along the corridor without a word. That doesn't bother me in the slightest though; my brain is currently my second best friend. Can you guess who my two joint best friends are? No, it's not an unopened tub of male lubricant or my motorcycle... It's my bike, not his. I don't even like motorcycles; they're one step away from a push bike with stabilizers.

I breathe a sigh of relief when we pass the Danger room and he doesn't throw me in there, growl and attempt to decapitate me. I'm sure I could probably take him; I mean I'm the leader of the X-men and he lives on beer. How tough can he be? Although, he did take out Sabretooth, Lady deathstrike and all those soldiers without any help... Popeye has his spinach, does Logan have beer?

"Are you going to tell me where we're going? I can't decide whether I like surprises or not."

"That was a question."

This would be the perfect time for a sarcastic answer, Jean always said that 'Sarcasm was the lowest form of wit' and I'd rather not incur the wrath of my fiancées ghost. She wouldn't want me to sink to his level.

"So, you've set foot in a school before then?" Apparently another part of me does like sarcasm, especially when it's aimed at the guy that's shoving me into the elevator. Logan and Marie standing in a lift, A-R-G-U-I-N-G. First comes the kitten and then comes the voices, then comes an angry mutant slamming you into the elevator carriage.

Can I get away with 'elevator carriage?' The elevator is carrying us up to the first floor; I guess my wittiness knows no bounds during those moments that wipe shit all over my life and then blow up what's left of it.

"You might wanna think before you open that mouth of yours." He comments unneighbourly. His body is crowding mine, so we're neighbours and no, we're not on friendly terms. We certainly won't be chatting over the fence, swapping stories over cups of tea and cake or exchanging Christmas cards.

"Logan..."

"I don't wanna hear it."

The elevator shudders to a halt and the doors open onto the corridor overlooking the foyer. I think Logan leapt over that banister once; he saved me from those soldiers with the guns, was he trying to be gallant? Why would he put his life and wellbeing in jeopardy to save Rogue? I just can't understand him; he's a mass of contradictions. Who the hell knows what those assholes would have done if they'd found out about the kid's mutation, anyone would have done the same thing.

Hmm, how to settle this? Who's right, me, me or me?

"This isn't the way to any of my rooms." I tell him dubiously, mistrusting my conflicted mind. Having three separate bedrooms is amazing though; I could plot world domination with all that space, invite dozens of hookers over and re-home neglected fluffy animals.

We come to a stop at a door at the end of a hallway and he puts a heavy hand on my shoulder. "This is your stop."

Logan's not in the running any longer, he's never right because he's a man and I've got a foot in both camps. I'm both male and female; does that make me both right and wrong? "But this isn't my room and I was running on the assumption that this was the visitor's wing."

He opens the door and stares me down until I sigh and walk into the stuffy seemingly unloved room. When was the last time that anyone dusted in here? Do I now have four rooms? I could open up my own bar in here, it's huge and smells like... "Sprout!"

'Meow'

My little brussel sprout is peeking out from underneath the four poster bed, voicing his disgust at the layers of heavily patterned silk material that flow from the curtains surrounding the bed.

"You brought him back here, didn't you?" I ask Logan, who doesn't appear to be in a particularly talkative mood tonight. He takes one quick look at me and the kitten circling around my feet then marches out, slams the door shut and...

"You son of a bitch!" I shriek, hearing a metallic key jiggling in a metallic lock. "You can't do this; you can't lock me in here! I saved your life back in Laughlin City and I don't like bondage so what made you think that I'd like you locking me in here!?" I don't need to strain my ears to hear him walking away. "Logan!? Logan!?"

'Meow'

"Actually, he's always like this. I think most men are, no offence to the Scott in my head, you're just a sex mad, kitten kidnapping idiot."

'Meow'

"Are those my clothes?" I reply to my bundle of fluff, glancing at the majestic Queen sized bed, with a pile of hastily strewn gloves, unmentionables and others such clothing that appears familiar.

I really wouldn't be caught dead in that shit but at least I... the kid don't dress like a hooker. Rogue doesn't have much of a chance to dress like a hooker... My skin ... Ugh, I don't care about my skin, how the hell am I going to get out of here?

'Meow'


	7. Three's a Crowd

_**I really have no excuse for taking this long to update. I'm just easily distracted by real life, rambling and kidnapping plans I suppose. Luckily BrownEyedDevil is currently drunk on Viking juice so I was able to finish this chapter. Three cheers for the drunken German!**_

_**This chapter has actually been sitting on my computer weeping and unfinished since I last updated. Today I handed it a tissue, asked it to dry it's eyes before all the words were washed away and made it my mission to finish this chapter. Hopefully I've done an okay job. **_

_**Now to the reviewers, who I love and will be sending life sized Logan chocolate effigies to: **_

_**Orangebean: You've probably finished college by now. Sorry for being so very slow. And there are more twist and turns to come, I can promise you that.**_

_**Comic: You closet Pansy Ass lover! If you can't keep your hands to yourself then you'll have to say behind at kidnapping HQ. Volunteers are needed to hack into the FBI database and make sure myself and Meow are always one step ahead of the bastards. **_

_**Chellerbelle: Thank you and that was my favourite part too!**_

_**BlackDog616: I completely failed at your request to post again soon. But I'm happy you enjoyed the last chapter. I've never been a fan of the separate voices, so I prefer the approach I've taken instead. You're going to have to keep wondering what will happen next after you have finished reading this chapter :D**_

_**Raven34link: I've made more. LOOK! You have no idea how pleased I am to have finally finished this chapter. **_

_**Miss. Reader: Aw, thanks. I'm glad you like my Logan's. Do you really like the Pansy Ass? Marie and Logan will always mess with him. I can't have it any other way. **_

_**Thanks to everybody for reviewing, reading, alerting and lurking. I'll see you all in another five or six months :P **_

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**Three's a Crowd**

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I'd like a cup of hot coco, a beer. I need a beer and a damn smoke, and vodka, what I really need is a vodka and coke. Vodka… No, not happening, I'm having a beer… Beer won't help me sleep, and neither will vodka, cocoa will do the trick. It's one of the five known remedies to help cure insomnia. An ice cold beer and a hooker in my bed, I like the sound of that, where's the phone?

"Shut up!" All three of us cry in my mind, scaring the life out of poor Sprout. All legs and disgust, he leaps off the bed and huddles under the dressing table, eyeing me with drowsy annoyance.

Rolling off the bed, I glance around the room and curse Logan to hell. The kind of hell where everyone has to conform, wear bright colours and denim is banned. Oh yes, and the bar's only serve flavoured water and chocolate covered peanuts. And the only way to catch the attention of the horny women down there would be to perform shows for all the little minions. He'll have to dye his hair pink, ride around on a tricycle and change his name to Lo-Lo the clown.

I can see it all now, it's right in front of my eyes.

'Meow'

"You're right," I acknowledge, the evil laughter vanishing as I attempt to shake my head free from the extra tenants. "I'm starting to go mad in this room. How long have we been in here exactly? Days, weeks, months, years?"

'Meow'

Snatching the clock from the bedside table, I gasp in horror, "You mean, it's only been an hour and a half? Sprout, you need to listen to me carefully. If I die in here, I leave everything to you, okay? All my worldly possessions, my soppy boyfriend, the guilt, everything."

I hear a noise outside the locked door, a jingle of keys, the handle moves and I step back wondering if the time has come to fight my way out of this situation.

That's ridiculous, the mansion is a place of safety. I just need to sit down and discuss my problems in a polite manner. Bullshit, I have to get up and fight, nobody pushes me around and gets away with it.

I sit down on the foot of the bed, then stand up, immediately followed by me sitting down again. The door creaks open, and I stand up, sit down, stand up and Jubilee catches me caught between both actions.

She watches me, obviously trying to determine whether I've lost my mind, or not.

Staring at her hands, a sharp, piercing pain explodes in my head and I whimper into my balled fists. Her voice seems a million miles away, I stagger backwards and sit on the bed. This isn't right, something isn't right…

Everything is fine. I always look on the bright side of life, it's what's expected from the leader of the X-Men. The students here look up to me and I need to set a good example for them.

I really would like a cup of cocoa. I might even watch a little TV before I go to bed.

"That's the Professor's set of keys." I exclaim, pointing at them, standing up and walking over to Jubilee. "Jean used to keep them in our bedroom, behind the photo of us at Cape Cod."

"Scott, you're Scott aren't you? Oh man, this is so cool, it's like a really fucked up Freaky Friday."

"Who else were you expecting?" I ask, rather concerned for her state of mind as she begins to jump up, down and around the room. "Jubilee, have you been at the candy again? You're going to have a sugar hangover tomorrow and I have enough to deal with where Rogue is concerned."

With hangovers at both ends of the spectrum, it's going to be a nightmare to teach the class in the morning. But Rogue needs to learn to throw a javelin straight, and Jubilee needs to cut out the sugar. I don't think my head can take much more. When was the last time I masturbated? It feels like hours…

I make my way over to the door idly wondering how on earth I got here in the first place. My allergies are really playing up tonight too. I hope Rogue hasn't bought that kitten back. I left it in the shelter so it could go to a good home. There are plenty of families out there who want a cat and I bet they don't sneeze their vital organs out through their neatly trimmed nostrils when the animal simply looks their way.

"Can you please move out of the way? I have so much to do and it's already late." I ask her when she leaps in front of me blocking the exit with her arms.

"You can't leave, Chica! Logan will rip my spinal cord out, wrap it around my throat and choke the life out of me while he growls and smokes one of his shitty cigars. _And _he'd probably get off on it too."

I frown at her and sigh. Why do people her age have to use language like that?

Pushing her gently aside, I pat her on the shoulder. "If Logan's bothering you, I'll have a talk with him. But I still need to leave."

I don't really want to know why she's calling me Chica. It's probably all the sugar she eats, not only does it rot her teeth, it's migrated to her brain. That's a shame, she's always had so much potential. I hate to see it wasted on candy and profanity.

Strolling down the hallway in the direction of our... _My _room, I hear Jubilee curse and run after me.

"Bothering me? Nah, he's going to go homicidal on my cute and curvaceous ass. The man will go nuts!"

She pushes past and stands in front of me blocking my entrance to my room, waving her hands in the air and gesturing wildly. "Nobody was supposed to go anywhere near that room, he said so. It was more of a growl, then he threatened to shred anybody who disobeyed him and Storm told him off. That made him growl even more. Wolverine. Will. Gut. Me. Do you want your best friend to die like that?"

I shake my head at the news of Logan bullying the students again. It's really got to stop. I always knew it was a mistake to ask him to join the team. He may have saved Rogue's life but he's far too much of an animal to be around civilised people. The students need to be dealt with kid gloves not threats, glares and claws.

"I really will talk to him, just not tonight. You're supposed to be in your room anyway, it's gone midnight." I inform her, glancing at the clock on the wall. "We have an early start tomorrow, remember? You need to be well rested for my fitness classes. I'm going to be putting you through your paces."

She only gawks at me open mouthed. Jubilee always responds better to praise, Jean always told me that.

"Your gesticulation skills are very impressive. I wish I could express myself in such a way."

"Are you coming on to me, Chica?"

"What?" I splutter in shock, half tempted to head straight for the liquor cabinet in the Professors office. "Of course not. Why would you even, I mean, you're... No, not all all."

Jubilee opens her mouth to retort and I hope backtrack on her wild accusation. My hopes weren't very high and I'm not in the slightest bit surprised when that doesn't happen. She's easily distracted and a difficult student to teach because of it.

"She's my best friend, I couldn't leave her up here all alone!" She cries, her eyes widening and I glance over my shoulder to see what... Oh.

"_Wolverine._" I greet curtly, trying not to make my dislike of the dick too noticeable.

His eyes narrow and I frown at his nostrils twitching. Is he sniffing me? No, I bet he's only trying to steal my fiancées scent away from me now. The bastard, does he have no shame? She chose me, when will he come to terms with that and move on? The best man won.

"You," He growls pointing a finger at Jubilee. "Get the hell outta here before I do somethin' we both regret."

She doesn't need to be told twice and scuttles off. Why don't the students ever listen to me like that?

Opening my door, I ignore his presence entirely. Masturbating the next hour away is the only activity I'm interested in tonight. But I can't help make a small comment to him as I go to shut the door.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't take your insecurities out on the students." I say, instantly followed by the mother of all sneezes. There is definitely an animal with fur around here somewhere.

He jams his boot in the door and does that ridiculous expression with his eyebrow. Women flock to him because of that and I don't understand why. I have a set of eyebrows and I'm not the type of man who feels the need to show off like that. I don't make a show, I'm just Scott and that's why Jean loved me.

I sneeze another four times in a row and groan under my breath, retreating to find a tissue in the side table.

It's possible I'm becoming allergic to Logan. The man is hairy, not that I've ever _really _looked. Opening a drawer, I knock over the photo of me and Jean at Cape Cod.

Picking the frame up, I brush a finger across Jean's smiling face and sit on the bed lost in thought.

"You don't smell right."

Logan's voice interrupts my train of thought and I gaze up at him. He's leaning against the door frame, eyebrows furrowed and glaring. Why is he here in our... My room?

"Was that supposed to be an insult?" I reply, placing the frame carefully back down and turning it so I can see her face when I'm lying bed. I miss her. I really do miss her.

"No, a fact." He grunts, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "C'mon, you're goin' back in that room."

Pushing myself off the bed, the voice in my head urges me not to get angry. "I have no idea what this is about, Logan. And I can't say I'm interested. All I want to do is retire for the night."

Firstly Jubilee acts strangely towards me and now him. This is the same guy who won't come within three feet of me normally. Even when he does we're swapping insults or threats. That I'm perfectly fine with, I'd rather he not order me around though.

"Rogue..." He snarls and straightens up.

I will admit he looks taller when he doesn't hunch over. Maybe that's the reason why Jean liked him.

"What is the matter with you all? I'm Scott Summers!" I shout, pacing the carpet and hoping I don't burn a hole in it.

She picked this carpet, my fiancée picked this carpet. I was with her that day, we ate lunch at the delicatessen in town. She was happy, smiling and it was the day I proposed. I bought a bottle of champagne and put the ring in her glass.

She said yes. The love of my life said yes to marrying me and I couldn't have been happier. But now she's gone and I'm standing here with Logan. Wolverine...

I round on him, swinging around. "It was your fault she died!" I snap, glancing from him to her photo. "You knew Stryker, you should have warned us about him, what he was capable of. She would have still been here if he hadn't attacked the mansion. We should have taken him out first!"

Logan quirks an eyebrow and stares at me. "Swiss cheese for brains, remember?"

"That's your answer for everything! If you'd tried harder my fiancée would still be here!"

"You. Are. Not. Scott. Fuckin'. Summers." Growling he stalks towards me, "You're a pain in the God damn ass and I'm this close," He holds up his fingers and I try to calculate the distance between each hairy, calloused digit. Math calms me and soothes my soul. "to throwin' you through a wall."

Jean never liked hairy knuckles. That could be one of the reasons why she chose me in the end. There is only so much body hair you can stomach.

"That threat is getting old, Logan." I sigh fixing him with a exasperated look.

"Yeah, to Scott. Not you."

"I am... You're trying to mess with me, aren't you?" I ask him, shaking my head and almost grinning at his childish behaviour. He won't provoke me into fighting with him, I'm better then that. "Fine. If you want to play this game ask me any question at all and I'll prove to you I am who I say I am."

"Oh, I've got a few doozies for you." He grunts, his gaze hardening. "But they can wait 'till you're back to your less annoyin' self."

I don't reply to his comment because its only another futile attempt at trying to drag me down to his level. I'm the leader of the X-Men and I won't be belittled into fighting with a man like him. If you would even describe him as a man.

"If you're Scooter then where's your glasses? 'Cause I might be considered a little slow sometimes but this place sure ain't shot to shit from what I can see."

My hands snap to my face and I gasp. I'm not wearing glasses, why am I not wearing glasses? What's happened to my mutation? My face doesn't feel right. I've never had long hair, not even in my young days when I bought a Yamaha guitar and wanted to join a band.

Barging past Logan, I rush to the bathroom, throwing the door open and stand in front of the mirror. My eyes settle on the reflection staring back at me and I feel nauseas. That's, that's not, I'm a girl! Placing my clammy palms on the porcelain sink I lean forward, taking a closer look.

"I'm not myself. I'm really not myself. Who the hell am I?" I whisper under my breath, shaking as I try to steady myself. My legs, whoever these legs belong to, they're weak.

Pressure begins to grow in my cranium, it hurts and I whimper. My head explodes and I screw my eyes closed, falling to the bathroom tiles and curling into a ball. Jean, I want Jean. This can't be happening, I'm Scott. I know who I am. Scott Summers, I'm Scott Summers.

"Shit, Marie!" Logan's leaning over me in seconds, muttering curses to himself and raking his hands through his hair. "Damn it. Focus on me, Kid." He commands, shaking my shoulder roughly and I crack an eye open.

There's so much pain and the tears cloud my vision. I can't focus, I can't. All I can do is bury my head in my hands and grit my teeth. "I want Jean." I whimper.

"She ain't here. Now focus, damn it!"

"I'm Scott Summers. I'm Scott Summers. I'm... I'm... I'm Scott Summers."

"Logan, what on earth?" I hear Storm's worried voice but pay no attention. I keep my eyes closed in case my mutation suddenly returns.

"Get the Professor here _now_!" Logan barks, "I don't give a shit where he is or what he's doin', get him here."

I start pulling at my hair, the excruciating pain in my head making me feel sluggish and lethargic. My mind is under attack and I only want to see Jean's face and hear her comforting voice.

"C'mon, Kid. Hang in there."

Those words, I need to concentrate on those words instead of the pain. I bite my lip, drawing blood and with one last soft cry, and a fleeting glance at Logan the room fades away and I fall into a welcomed coma.

* * *

_**See? Logan still cares, that gruff and growly teddy bear. Just don't tell him I said that. **_

_**The Rogan board is still looking for new members. If you like chatting about all things Rogan and utterly amazing, yet completely insane, come join and say hello. Only Meow bites but we now muzzle her. Click the homepage link on my profile and you'll never think clearly or be the same again; I can promise you that. **_


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